Sweden and Finland meet Hat Guy
by Liradawn
Summary: xkcd, meet Hetalia! Hetalia, meet xkcd! Hat guy tries out the antics mentioned in comic 611. Unfortunately for him, his victims haven't had enough excitement in a veeeeeery long time.


"Continue driving on I-95—"

"But that sign says we should get off at the next exit!"

"GPS's prob'ly more accurate."

"Are you kidding? It told us to drive the wrong direction on a one-way street earlier! Just follow the sign, won't you Sve?"

"Hm."

"Come on, are you going to listen to me, or to _her_?"

Well, put that way, Sweden really doesn't have much of a choice. So he sighs and merges into the rightmost lane and gets off at the exit. Which he admits, _is_ pretty convincingly marked "495 South to D.C. and Bethesda." It's just that he's almost certain they haven't driven as far as the map said they should yet.

Finland leans back and yawns. "Five hours. Five hours to drive between New York and D.C, and that's just a part of the stretch down the coast. America's so _big_," he says, and there's just a hint of jealousy in his voice.

Sweden doesn't answer, as he's too busy frowning at the road. It's rather narrow, and rather poorly lit. There are lots of trees all around. "Thought 495 was s'posed t'be big," he mutters, before scowling again as if trying to scare the road into turning into the right one. Or at least into spontaneously generating a few street lamps. "Maybe we should've—"

He's cut off when suddenly the tires burst. First both the ones in front, then both the ones in the back follow suit. "The hell is that?" Finland screams as the car keels erratically, knocking them both violently against the sides and each other. Sweden nearly smashes the brake with his foot; his knuckles are white as he grips the steering wheel. Somehow he manages to bring the vehicle to a stop without flipping or crashing into anything.

For a moment, the two nations simply sit in silence, panting from adrenaline. Finally, Finland laughs shakily and turns to Sweden. "Well, at least we're alive."

As if on cue, a bullet smashes into a window right after he speaks, and both nations instinctively dive to the floor of the car. Another bullet follows, and then another, leaving three jagged holes and fine spider web patterns of cracks in the glass.

"Fin…"

"No, Sve, I did _not_ modify this car." Sweden lifts his eyebrow, and Finland groans. "No, I didn't get Estonia to modify it either. The bullets are from someone shooting at us, not from a broken defense contraption."

"Good." A pause. "…skit."

"Indeed."

Another pause, punctuated by another bullet hitting the window.

" 'M sensing 'nly one person. You?"

"Yeah, one of America's."

They fall silent again for a moment to exchange a Meaningful Glance. And then, Finland breaks out into a wide grin. A moment later as Sweden's face likewise arranges itself into a gleeful expression. (Across the Atlantic at that precise moment, England feels a sudden wave of terror he hasn't experienced since the time of the Vikings, and the universe itself stops for a parsec to marvel that Sweden is, in fact, capable of changing his expression.)

"Did ya bring—"

"Of course," Finland says as one window shatters under the force of yet another bullet. "And you—"

" 'Course I did. Let's get out." Sweden throws his door open and runs out, gracefully avoiding the caltrops strewn about. Finland dives over the shift and follows. They sprint for a few minutes before they hear the clopping sound of a galloping horse approaching.

Finland pulls Sweden to slight depression on the side of the road as the sound gets closer. "He has a horse. A freakin' horse," Finland growls.

Sweden's grin only gets wider and scarier, as he pulls his quarterstaff out of thin air and gives the top a twist so that a blade springs out. "Just like th' good old days 'gainst Poland," he says.

There's a glimmer of madness in Finland's eyes as he replies. "Of course. I was just thinking how terrible it would be if we hurt the poor horse, though."

Sweden pouts a little, but he retracts the blade. Finland retrieves a shotgun from inside his jacket. "Not my rifle," he sighs. "But you'll do just fine, won't you, Nut Blue Swan?" Finland coos and lovingly strokes the firearm.

"...wouldn't th' shotgun harm th' horse?"

"Not if you aim well enough!"

Sweden rolls his eyes, but then the horse and its rider comes into sight. Sweden puts off making a snarky reply in favor of charging. The rider (who, Sweden notes, is wearing an odd black hat) shoots, but by then Sweden has rolled aside.

"Pistols are for pansies," Finland calls, and fires a round in retaliation. One of the pieces of shot takes the guy's hat off his head. A second later Sweden bursts from the side and gives him a firm wallop with the quarterstaff. The rider falls off, quite unconscious. The horse attempts to bolt, but thinks better of it after a quick glare from Sweden.

"That was anticlimactic," Finland says, emerging to take his place by Sweden's side. He whips out a handkerchief and starts to wipe down Nut Blue Swan.

"Hm," Sweden agrees. "When ya finish cleaning, help me tie'm up?"

"Sure! ...hey, where'd he go?"

Sweden swears and turns to look where the guy the hat was lying a moment ago. Sure enough, he's disappeared, and so has his hat for that matter. Sweden bends over and scans the ground, then turns to his wife. "Say, Fin, wanna go hunting?"

"Let's." Finland gives his shotgun one final wipe. He inspects the ground, much the same way as Sweden did a moment ago. "I'm thinking he went north?"

Sweden nods, and begins moving in that direction. "Wait," Finland calls, and fires a round at the ground just in front of Sweden. The ground answers with spectacular twin explosions. "The guy planned ahead just in case, didn't he? Clever, planting mines. This is going to be the most fun we've had in years!"

Sweden cracks yet another maniacal grin and grabs Finland for a quick kiss. "I love ya, ya know."

Finland smiles smugly. "I know. Now let's go!"

~-o-~

The next morning, America is getting his daily fix of caffeine in his hotel room and browsing the news on his laptop. He's just taken a nice big sip when he happens to look up and out the window. The next moment, the window is covered with coffee.

"Hey, America!" Finland calls brightly as he waves a GPS-holding hand from the back of a horse. Behind him Sweden fiddles with what looks suspiciously like a landmine, while glaring every few moments at a bound figure slung on the horse behind him. "You know that scary story you told last meeting? About that guy with a black hat who likes terrorizing people in the woods? We took care of that for you!"

America opens and closes his mouth many times before he finds his voice. "Thanks," he finally manages. "Uh. I, uh, I believe Russia wanted a word with him. Something about a nuclear submarine."

"We'll drop him off with Russia, then," Finland calls. "See you at the meeting! Let us know if you have any other troublesome people to deal with."

America winces with sympathy for hat guy before looking for a cloth to clean the window with.


End file.
